Everlasting (Draco Malfoy x Reader)

A Sleepless Night

And that night, you sat with Cedric and his friends in the Hufflepuff common room, speaking for hours and giggling, catching up on your summer. You did not, sadly, have much to say, but it was pleasant to listen to the stories of others. When it came to you, you tried to avoid the topics much and when Cedric noticed how uncomfortable you'd gotten at speaking about the Dursleys, he quickly changed topic. When you returned to the Slytherin common room, it was long past curfew - already half past midnight. Cedric offered to walk you, but you refused and said you enjoyed nightly walks on your own. Especially since the Slytherin common room was rather far away, and the dungeons were quite a scary place, but you weren't too bothered. You certainly took your time, roaming the halls, admiring the view, and tonight, it was raining. The gorgeous sound of the rain pattering against the rock ground made you smile, and seeing the puddles grow was a welcome view. Within one of the halls, you noticed the one and only cat that sparked back nostalgia from three years ago: the one cat that stared at you on the driveway before your knowledge of this fantastic world. Back when you had little hope of success in life, little hope of actually making it past the age of sixteen, little hope of surviving for so long and finding the will, the cat's stare and attention on you - the madness of it. And now, three years later, the exact same cat sat in the hallway, gazing at you the same way it did back then. Only this time, you were full of hope, full of happiness, full of excitement, and you were certain that sixteen was an age you were going to achieve easily. And now, you knew. You smiled at Professor McGonagall, knowing you weren't supposed to be out of your dorm, but all the cat did was stare, and then finally gently bow its head before allowing its little paws to tap away into the darkness of another hallway. And eventually, you reached the dungeons. It was a nice thought that everyone inside was asleep; that the common room was empty, and you weren't obliged to go to sleep quite just yet, but sit in it alone and admire the fireplace, perhaps read a book by it.

"Pure-blood," you said to the portrait of Slytherin, and he thus opened. And finally, walking in, you discovered the fireplace to be lit, and a lonely presence sitting before it. Someone who you least expected. The one and only Draco Malfoy, in his sleepwear (which consisted of a plain black top and grey shorts), sitting before the fireplace and staring at it. Perhaps he did not hear you walk in, for he did not turn around. Without catching his attention, you made your way over, and took a seat on the other sofa which faced him. He turned to you, looked at you for a moment, then turned back to the fireplace, resting his head on his arm, which leaned on the armrest. "Why so desolate?" You asked.

"Desolate?" He scoffed. "I wasn't before you came in."

"Did something happen, perhaps?"

"Happen?" He asked quickly, turning to you in alarm, lifting his head off his hand slightly. "What would happen?" He turned back to the fireplace.

"Over the summer?"

"Nothing happened over the summer."

"Then in school?"

"What's it to you, Potter?"

"We're not all cruel beings like you."

With this, he turned to you gently.

"If it's any consolation, I live in an abusive household."

"Consolation? How would that even help?" He scoffed.

You cleared your throat, looking away towards the fireplace. "Your father, he doesn't seem like a very nice person."

"Don't speak of my father. He's nothing to do with you."

"Well, apparently not." You paused. "I wonder if we are going to die soon."

Malfoy turned to you with a confused expression and a raised eyebrow.

"You know, with Voldemort being on his way."

"I don't believe in that stuff."

"Well, have you heard of the prisoner that escaped recently?"

"Yeah."

"Do you think he'll come to Hogwarts?"

"No."

"I wonder what he did. Or even more importantly, how he escaped."

"Potter," Malfoy sighed, "why are you making conversation with me? We're not friends. I don't like you."

"Well, that's alright." You nodded. "But there's something poetic about the night, the rain, and fireplaces. Intimacy is increased when you're isolated with someone in these circumstances."

He watched you speak as though he were listening to the maddest person on Earth, and he had his brows furrowed from confusion.

"What are you, a fucking poet? Get a grip."

"That's a pleasant thought. I like poetry."

"Great. No one asked."

"Remember what you said to me last year? How it really is impossible to talk to me without me being rude? Yeah, well, that applies to you, right now."

"Only, you cared. I don't. I'll be as rude as I want to be."

"Something seems to be bothering you. You're more picky than usual."

"Can you just go to sleep?" He sighed.

"Yes, I suppose I'll just read in bed."

He made no reply as you lifted yourself and made your way away from him, to the female dorms. Before entering, you turned back one last time and watched the boy. He was no ideal; but you were no monster. You would not wish such suffering upon anyone. It simply made you human, this. Sometimes the boy whose shadow was cast against the fireplace forgot that - he forgot that he was merely human. But you understood that. Perhaps that was the reason why you enjoyed the bickering, for you never took it too personally. You were only teenagers, of course, and the things you said to each other had little meaning. It was simply not that deep. Your constant feuds with Malfoy were simply not that deep. Harry, Ron and Hermione did not think so. They believed he was going to grow up to become like his father and probably work for someone like Voldemort. They believed his cruelty stemmed from his nature. They believed he would cause suffering to anyone any chance he got, and whilst it seemed that way, you did not quite believe so. And so, sighing, you turned and walked into the dorms, where you finished your day back. Reading a book before bed, you could not focus your mind, being curious of a recurring image in your mind which consisted of Malfoy's face and the fireplace's light gleaming against it. You'd perhaps focused on it a little too much, for it was not preventing you from ultimate sleep. This was one thing you struggled to admit, but perhaps you pitied the boy a little. Or perhaps, it was so late and you were so tired that you were looking into it too much, trying too much to be a saviour. You were no saviour, and you could not save someone like Malfoy. Thus, brushing the thought out of your head, you sighed and turned to the other side. Yet, to no avail. And thus, all night was spent sleepless. If it was not Malfoy, it was Sirius Black, if it was not Sirius Black, it was Lord Voldemort, and if it was not Lord Voldemort, it was Malfoy. You'd had a long day, a long night, and your mind remained restless.